Throughout the years, Theana would write to Rokhan.
Letter after letter. Always filled with light and happy tones.
She spoke of good things. Of peace. Of progress.
She told him how her nephew was growing well, now enrolled in the magis academy. How magis and non-magis lived in harmony within Epsos. How the corrupt nobles of old had been replaced, their titles now entrusted to worthy magis.
The people prospered. The land was fertile. Epsos was thriving—great in every sense.
But never, not even once did she write of her suffering.
Her hardships were hers alone to bear. And above all… Rokhan was the one person she refused to burden with the truth.
But by then…Theana knew that her time was running out.
She had been forced to heal the Emperor and his subjects for every minor wound, every trivial ailment. It wasn't that the other white magis or even the earthen magis lacked the skill.
No.
It was a cruel design of Emperor Lennix. He knew.
He knew that every spell she cast, every healing she performed, drained her own life force. That every magic barrier she wove, every act of protection for her people, came at the cost of her own vitality.
And she refused to take from the land. Refused to burden a soil that had only just begun to heal. She bore it all alone.
She was exhausted. She is dying slowly.
And yet, she would not heal herself. Nor would she allow the other white magis to sacrifice their life force for her. She loved her people so dearly.
This burden… she chose to bear alone. She intended to keep it that way.
But what she did not know was that Rokhan was already on his way.
---------------
That night, after another long ordeal, Theana stumbled into her chambers.
Inside her bathing room, she collapsed to her knees and vomited.
Her body trembled. Her mind frayed.
She could no longer endure the obscenities she was forced to witness, night after night by the Emperor.
After some time, she gathered herself. Refusing the help of attendants, as always. She washed herself and lather lavender oil on her tired and weak body.
And when she finally stepped back into her chamber, seeking only rest—she froze.
There was someone there. A presence. Near her bed.
Rokhan.
His red eyes glowed faintly in the darkness.
No…No, she didn't want this. Not like this.
She didn't want him to see her—like this.
Rokhan moved first. He moved fast. Too fast.
Theana staggered back, her weakened body failing her—but before she could fall, he caught her.
His grip was firm and unyielding.
He was furious.
Not because she had lied. White Magis are incapable of lying.
But because she had suffered alone. Because she had hidden it from her people…and from him.
She tried to pull away weakly. But Rokhan refuses to let her go.
Moonlight spilled into the room and in that pale glow, he saw her.
The bruises. Faint… and not so faint.
Blue. Purple. Marks of repeated cruelty.
His blood boiled.
Without a word, he pulled her robe aside just enough—
And what he saw only made it worse.
Her body bore the evidence of violence. Not once. Not twice. But over and over again.
Her eyes, once radiant gold were dull now.
Haunted. As though they had witnessed things no soul should endure.
Her hands pressed against his chest. Trembling, not in fear. But in shame.
She didn't want him to see. Didn't want him to know.
She had hoped…that she would fade away before this moment ever came.
Her body curled inward.
And for the first time—she broke.
Tears fell. Crystal-like drops, scattering against the floor.
She had never cried before. Not when she was beaten. Not when she was humiliated. Not when her dignity was stripped away piece by piece by the Emperor.
But now…in his arms she shattered.
Dark smoke began to seep from beneath Rokhan's feet.
His power responding to his rage. His fury… barely contained.
He wanted to destroy everything! Burn it all to ash. Tear the empire apart. Especially that damned Emperor!
But he held on for her. For everything she had built and done for her people, for Graitan and for Epsos.
Rokhan loved Theana. He knew it now—without doubt.
After all these years, there was no denying it.
And a thought crept into his mind—one that made his chest tighten.
Had the Emperor ever laid with her?
He didn't ask. Because he wasn't sure he could survive the answer.
They sank to the floor together. Holding each other in silence.
Rokhan gently stroked her hair as she wept against him.
Her body was frail. Too frail. He could feel her faint life force.
And with that realization, a quiet dread began to take root.
"Rokhan…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "How I've missed you…"
Rokhan trembled.
He pressed kisses against her hair, her forehead. Anywhere he could reach.
"I missed you more," he murmured softly. "More than you know…"
After a moment, she looked up at him.
"How… did you know?"
He reached into his pocket and showed her a small pouch containing her crystal tears from long ago.
They no longer shimmered as they once did. Their glow… had faded.
"That's when I knew," he said quietly. "Something was wrong."
And he came without hesitation.
Now, holding her close, he could feel it clearly.
Her life force…is fading. Theana was dying.
He closed his eyes briefly. Thinking he had to do something.
Anything.
But for now, he carried her to bed. Held her close. And stayed with her as she finally drifted into sleep.
In the darkness—his red eyes burned with rage.